Page 1 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

CHAPTER 1

DearPenpal,

Hello.

My name is Wesley. I am twelve years old, and I am in sixth grade at Crescent Lake Elementary in Northern California.

I’ll be honest, I am only writing this letter because my teacher said we have to. She said if we don’t, we’ll get an F, and I am not about to fail an assignment and ruin my track record of perfect grades. Plus, my dad would probably ground me or something.

Anyway, I don’t really want a pen pal. I have friends here at school already, so why would I need to become friends with somebody who doesn’t even live here, someone I’ll never actually meet?

So, yeah. That’s really all I feel like I need to say to you. There’s no point in telling you anything else about myself, since it’s not like we’ll continue to write to each other, or meet each other, or anything like that.

I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. It’s nothing against you. Like I said, I don’t even know you. You’re probably a really nice person, and I’m sure that you, just like me, have plenty of friends at your school and don’t need a friend who lives hundreds of miles away in a different state.

Thanks for letting me write you this letter so I can get an A.

Sincerely,

Wesley Stone

WESLEY

“All right, class, make sure you address your envelopes the way I demonstrated on the board, and be sure to seal them properly before you leave them on my desk. I plan to put them in the mail to Colorado today after school, so hopefully, by next week, you will have an answer back from your pen pal! Now, please pack up your bags and line up at the door in a single file line so we can head out to dismissal for today. Don’t forget to put your letters on my desk!”

I rolled my eyes at Mrs. Appleton’s words, exchanging a look with my best friend, Reid Thomas. He was just as unenthusiastic about this assignment as I was, but I had to turn mine in. Otherwise, my dad, Alpha Harrison Stone, would make me run extra laps and do extra push-ups and sit-ups at training.

He had high expectations and standards for my brother and me. Well, mostly me, since I would be the alpha of our pack someday.

“What did you write?” Reid whispered while we both made our way down the aisles to drop our letters off on Mrs. Appleton’s desk.

“I told whoever they are that I only wrote them because my dad would kill me if I got an F on an assignment as easy as writing a letter to a random person in another state.”

Reid snickered as he followed me through the rows of desks to the back of the room, where we kept our backpacks. My black bag and his gray bag hung next to each other on the hooks below our names.

Even though we were 6th graders, Mrs. Appleton liked to keep her classroom set up the same as all the primary-grade classrooms. Alphabetized everything: seats, backpacks, book boxes, even our line when we left for recess and lunch. It was a little childish, but I was not the teacher, so I tried not to complain. Often.

“I told mine to never write to me again,” Reid explained, throwing his backpack over one shoulder and placing his baseball cap backwards on his head.

Hats weren’t allowed inside, but somehow, Reid always got away with wearing it. He would flash his signature cheeky grin at the teachers, and they would pretend they didn’t even notice he was breaking the rules.

If it was me, on the other hand, everyone would notice and make a big fuss. Because future alpha Wesley Stone should always be the picture-perfect student. Future alpha Wesley Stone should lead by example, even at only twelve. No pressure, right?

“I’m just glad Mrs. Appleton isn’t reading them before she sends them to her sister’s class. Can you imagine the volcanic eruption that would take place in my dad’s office if he got a call telling him what I wrote?” I flinched and grimaced, and Reid laughed.

We were finally in our line, waiting for the bell to ring so we could make our way through the halls and off the campus, where the sprawling pack grounds waited for us to spend the rest of our day training and goofing around.

It was always my favorite time of day. Getting to be outside, running through the forest, and then throwing a football or bouncing a basketball around with my friends—nothing could beat that.

The anticipation spreading between all my classmates was high. Not only was it the end of the day, but it was also Friday, which meant two whole days with no school. What kid—human or werewolf—didn’t love the weekend?

The bell finally rang, and we all tried our best to not run out the door. The kids at the front made a decent effort, but by the time Reid and I made it out (with our last names being near the end of the alphabet, we were always one of the last in line and out the door), we were all running, pushing past each other to be the first one through the gate at the front of the school near the office.

With werewolves, almost everything was a competition, especially between young males. Being the first student out of the gate had always been one of those things that everyone automatically fought for. It was an unspoken tradition. No one ever declared it was a race; it just was, and always had been.

Even though I was still only twelve, and there were students one and two years older than me at our school, I’d had the honor of being the winner since I was eight. I think, at first, the other kids were scared to beat me, afraid to be the one that made the future alpha come in second place. But at some point, I actually became the fastest.

Part of it was genetics. Werewolves born with alpha blood became lycans and were genetically predisposed to be stronger, faster, and bigger than other werewolves. But it was also because I trained harder and longer than any other kid in our pack.

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